


Minuets

by clytemnestras



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5577367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>people are stopped mid fight / or mid love, faces close & the brain / a fuzzy blank, some fall in love / like this, or don’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minuets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/gifts).



~~~~Dances will always be far worse battles than war. He walks past her and he loses. He takes her hand and she takes him. His only advantage is knowing the correct choice.  
  
He cannot speak to her that night, not his right nor disposition; too taken to do anything but listen to the well-versed lilt of her voice.   
  
“You have none of Alexander’s wit,” she tells him, and he smiles, accepting the compliment.  
  
*  
  
In the kitchen, with Eliza in bed half-lucidly dreaming of the way Alexander’s hand fit into hers, Angelica reads through the morning papers, tired and refusing to understand why men are so fitful for wars.   
  
The revolutions tastes like snow in the air, fresh and decadent; the war to lead it washing everything away.  
  
*  
  
In both sleep and wakefulness, he dances with her for hours and hours, wild and feral and still fitting like nature dictates it so.   
  
*  
  
Everybody returns bloody.  
  
The wedding is beautiful, Eliza radiant and Alexander… verbose. She could speak for hours on how lovely they are but swallows down with her tongue the bitterness.   
  
Aaron takes her hand and tells her she’s the most dangerous creature he’s ever met.   
  
She tells him he’s looking in the wrong places, then. Nobody wins a war finding a monster in a soft heart. They dance, again.  
  
*  
  
He writes her a letter in the midst of battle. Bitter and yearning for a fight he can participate in meaningfully.   
  
She writes him back sooner than he’d hoped, tells him to be better.   
  
*  
  
Alexander cheats on her sister the night the world falls down and she’s so close to ending the world with inkstains, throwing him to the wolves, but Eliza’s sobs from the bathroom press her palms together, too gentle for her viciousness.   
  
Her blood runs hot as she cards her fingers through Eliza’s hair and she burns many letters, just not the the ones she intends to reply to.   
  
*  
  
He finds her on his street as though coincidence is calling them both in their mutual recklessness. And, clearly, she’s facilitated this. It’s been a long time since her hand fit his. Since Theodosia fell away. Her eyes make no mistake in believing time has changed either of them enough.   
  
She laces their fingers before she speaks, like a defiance against words over action.   
  
“Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, Sir?”  
  
He smiles at her and leads her inside. “I think I’d rather ask you to war.”


End file.
